She stared at him. He’d almost just smiled at her. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah.” He ran a hand down his face again and tugged at his collar once more. He was clearly nervous. “Just a bit distracted.”
“You’ll be fine once you see them,” Brenna said, and then almost bit her tongue. Why was she trying to soothe him? “Shouldn’t you be going soon?”
He nodded and turned to the door, then turned back to her again. “I don’t suppose you can get rid of the purple in your bangs?”
Her purple Bettie Page bangs? She loved them. Brenna glared and pointed at the door. “Go.”
Grant nodded. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. They look nice.”
As she sat there at her desk, mouth hanging open, Grant turned and headed outside just as Dane bounded through the door, coming inside. The big athlete shook rain from his hair, grinning cheerfully. “Looks like it’s going to be a downpour soon.”
Brenna ran to him, dragging him away from the front door and to the back of the main office. “What’s up with Grant?”
Dane looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“He’s being weird,” she hissed. “He apologized to me earlier. Twice. And he seemed nervous. And when he was leaving, he complimented me on my hair.”
“Huh.” Dane looked just as surprised as she was for a moment there. “Your hair’s cute, Bren. In a Suicide Girls sort of way, that is. Kinda not Grant’s thing, though.”
Well, that stung, and she didn’t even know why it bothered her. “I could care less if I’m Grant’s kind of thing,” she said, irritated. “What’s eating him?”
Dane shrugged, then moved to the swag counter, pulling one of the complimentary shirts off a stack and switching it out with his damp one. “Oh, that. He’s probably just has his feathers ruffled because of his parents visiting. He hasn’t seen them in two years.”
“Aren’t they rich? What’s the matter with them? They don’t like flying or something?”
“Yeah, but it’s more like Grant avoids them. They always ask him about the wife.”
“The wife?” Brenna thought for a moment. “You mean, his dead wife?”
“Yeah.” Dane ripped the tags off the new shirt and tugged it down over his muscular chest. “His dad’s convinced he’s wasting away from missing her, and his mom’s convinced that all he needs is someone new in his life to make him forget her. When Mama Markham shows up to visit, she constantly throws women in his direction, trying to set him up. It drives Grant crazy.”
Brenna thought for a moment. She’d been working with the Expeditions group ever since they opened, and though it had only been a few months, she couldn’t think of a single, solitary time that Grant had gone out on a date. For that matter, he never seemed to get many personal calls, either. It was all work for him.
For some reason, that made her sad, and she felt a twinge of pity. “How long ago did his wife die?”
“Five years ago.”
“Five years!” That was a really long mourning period. He must have been positively flattened by her death. Poor guy.
“Yeah.” Dane’s face was grim. “I wasn’t here at the time but I knew Heather. She and Grant were high school sweethearts. From what I heard, it was pretty bad and Grant was devastated as hell. He’s probably not ready to move on, but his mom won’t let up. She thinks he’ll never jump back into the waters unless she gives him a little push.”
She chewed on her lip. “Parents are kind of jerks like that.” Poor Grant. No wonder he was so flustered at the thought of his parents arriving. A memory flashed through Brenna’s mind and she went to Grant’s desk. She’d recalled seeing a picture there, but thought it was a sister or a friend—or girlfriend. But no, it was a photo of a pretty, perfect blonde posing on skis. It must have been his dead wife. “His parents should just leave him alone.”
“They’re family. Family never leaves anyone alone.”
She kind of disliked them already. Sure, Grant was an uptight douche, but he was her uptight douche to harass and annoy. She didn’t want to feel sorry for the guy. Ugh. What was next? Getting all hot and bothered because he liked her hair? Please.
The front door opened and Grant came in, keys in hand, glasses speckled with rain. His perfect hair was soaked and his shoulders were wet from big, splashing drops of water.
“My car won’t start.” He sighed, and then threw the keys down on the nearest table. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Brenna winced. “Yeah, about that . . .”
Grant turned to her, his jaw clenching. “What?”
She shrugged. “I might have disabled the fuel pump switch so Pop could have something to work on this afternoon.”
He looked like he was ready to reach across the desk and choke her. Well, that was an improvement at least. This Grant she knew how to handle. “Brenna,” he said, his tone warning. “Give me the switch.”
“I might have thrown it away.”
“Brenna.”
“What? Like I knew you were going to the airport.”
“It was on the calendar, damn it!”
She spread her hands. “Sorry. You can take my car. I don’t know how much gas it has, though. I pretty much only go to the station when the little red light comes on.”